Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Bards of Annar and the seven kingdoms moved sluggishly as they traced the familiar path back to the stage where the Hulls made their displays. There was a strange silence that hung over the Bards-had hung over the Bards-for days now. It had taken the Bards a while to realize that the Speech no longer lived in them. Indeed, at first, they believed the Nameless One had worked some kind of spell that weakened them, dulled their minds, and left them in a strange haze of consciousness. It had seemed like someone had simply cut them off from their Gifts and left a void where once there had been a pulsing power. But then they tried to speak and the truth was painfully clear to them.
Days passed and they marked no change in their condition, and they realized it was permanent. They had not bothered to ask the Hulls what had happened, though they prowled the streets of the ghetto, as if hoping someone would ask. The Bards would huddle around each other in their hovels and try to speak, but the Speech died on their tongues, meaningless words whispered into the dark. When they were finally summoned, they seemed to know what was coming.
Once more, the First Circles were arranged by their Schools on a stage. Likud was sneering at Nelac, gesturing rather proudly at something on his chest. The Hull's attention shifted to Vaclal, who stood nearby and tugged on the Bard's cloak, straightening it and clucking like a mother over her unruly son. The assembled Bards couldn't help noticing that their First Circles were dressed lavishly, insulated with warm cloaks and richly embroidered shirts, while the rest of them shivered in the cool desert evening. They wondered if the First Circles were there to deliver the bad news they already knew was coming, but a horrible chill settled over the crowd as an unbearable pressure pushed on their shoulders, spines and knees. After a moment of horrified struggle, the Bards – Circles and all – fell to their knees.
They stared, utterly transfixed as a lone figure came through the gates at the entrance. After all the nightmares they'd shared, all the horror stories they'd heard, and legends and whispers of a great evil, they were faced with this simple man. He took his time, enjoying the sensation of the eyes on him, and slowly mounted the stage to look over his First Bards.
"Your obedience is a good thing you know," he said softly. "Show your people how to worship me. Teach them, lest they suffer my wrath."
The First Circles remained bowed forward when he turned to the audience. "For so long I dreamed of this day: the day of the Great Silence when the Speech ran dry on the tongues of the Dhyllin and their influence left this world. Finally, my dream is realized."
He drew a deep breath and his power radiated out into the crowd and pain spiked through the Bards like invisible whips. They gasped, sinking lower until their faces were sunk into the dirt.
"I imagine this is difficult for you. I understand. I empathize." His hands clenched into fists. "Once, my power too was taken from me. I was left a desolate, ruined creature. But this suffering served only a greater purpose. For through my pain, I became a king, a god."
On the stage, Cadvan attempted in vain to lift his face, but the Nameless One's control over him was complete and he sank down with a shuddering sigh. He cursed his body, his weak mortal flesh.
"And I will rule you, and your children, and your children's children until the ending of the earth. Do not fear, my Bards, that I will have your people put to the sword, for that would be a swift and easy end. I swear to you now that I will see you continue, as slaves – yes – but continue all the same."
He threw his hands wide. "You see before you the First Circles, your most Gifted and powerful Bards. They serve me now." He walked along the line of them, inspecting each in turn. "They are mine to do whatever I want with, tools in my hands." He considered his words. "Pets."
He stopped before Nelac and curled his fingers once. "Come forward, Nelac. Let the people see you properly."
Nelac sighed but came up on his knees so the crowd could see his face. "Nelac once of Lirigon. Nelac of Dagra." He switched his gaze from the old Bard to the crowd. "You opposed me in my conquest, did you not?"
"I did," Nelac responded and was glad to hear his voice was steady and even.
"And you opposed my destruction of the Speech?"
"I did."
"Do you oppose my dominion?"
Just say no, Nelac, it is easier by far, the Nameless One whispered.
You will break my mind either way. Nelac knew that his compliance might persuade the Nameless One to ease his mind, but there was a part of him still determined to fight.
"Until the very end," Nelac said loudly so the crowd could hear.
The Nameless One grinned and said softly, "You know, I'm so glad to hear you say that." He lifted his hands and the Bards in the ghetto felt the pressure lift enough that they could see him. "These Bards need a proper display of my power."
Nelac had but one moment to consider what was about to come before the Nameless One struck, and he doubled over, blinded by the pain. For the First Circles, seeing Nelac's mind destroyed was not novel, but the common Bards had never seen such violence and watching Nelac jerk and convulse on the stage was horrifying. The strange sounds that escaped his body were enough to turn their stomachs, and when his back bowed so much they thought it would break, many of the Bards covered their eyes or looked away.
When it was over, the Nameless One stood over Nelac's bent corpse with a ravenous look. "Barely worth my time," he said vindictively.
Nelac gasped, clutching his hair, but his eyes were blank and unseeing. His mouth tried to form names of people or places, but his mind couldn't make the connection. The Nameless One considered the process of destroying Nelac's memories which had taken almost an hour. He said, rather curiously, "It seems destroying a mind is far easier than preserving it through the breaking. How strange."
"How weak they are in the end," Likud said casually.
"Now, now, Likud, Nelac was a great Bard. Let that not be forgotten." This was imperative, the Nameless One knew. The people could not forget just how powerful Nelac had been, or else how could they realize just how complete the Nameless One's dominance was? "But even a great Bard cannot contend my will."
Likud showed his teeth in a snarl. "Cadvan, clean up this mess."
The Hull aimed a kick at Cadvan and he tumbled forward. He didn't know how to move Nelac gracefully, and instead was forced to simply grab the old man under his arms and drag him away from the Nameless One. Saliman strained again the spell holding him in place, as desperate as Cadvan to help, but he was denied. Though the Nameless One didn't deign to look at him, Saliman sensed his faint amusement at the struggle.
"You see now, do you not, that my power is inescapable. My will is inevitable." He stared out over his captives, his face set in an ugly expression. "I am your lord. Say it."
The Bards balked at the command, but the First Circles understood suddenly why they were there. Teach them, lest they suffer my wrath. "You are our lord," the First Circles chanted.
The Nameless One waved at them. "You hear your leaders. Do you not agree?"
The crowd stared in mute shock. These were the most powerful Bards in all Annar and seven kingdoms. They were heroes and scholars, the greatest minds of the age, and yet here they were, chanting mindlessly like scared children. It woke a sense of shame in the Bards, and many wished they could simply go back to their hovels and hide rather than see it. When the First Circles repeated the phrase again, the Nameless One gestured to the audience angrily.
"Shall I summon the dogsoldiers? Must I drive you at their fire and whips? Say it!"
His fury broke like a wave and even if the Bards thought to refuse him, the words came forth. The sounds of the Bards chanting was like rolling thunder and the Nameless One was sure they would hear it in the city and the tower and the people would go forth and tell this story.
My victory is complete.
After a time, he held up his hand to silence the masses. "Enough of that." They fell silent, their faces back in the dirt. "Now we look to the future: the rebuilding of my empire. And since it was your people that destroyed it through your war, it is you who will do it." His dark eyes moved across the bent Bards, searching for any sign of insurrection. "You go forth now from this keep to serve your small masters, but never forget that you are mine. Perhaps you will not fear your new lords, but if I should learn of any discontent or mutiny, those responsible will be punished. Severely. Do not let time or distance confuse you, remember what you saw here today." He pointed aggressively at the First Circles. "Remember that your leaders bowed to me, obedient to my will. Remember that none among you have the strength to challenge me. And should one of you attempt it," he snarled, his hand closing into a fist, "you shall be broken like the others."
"Now go!" he roared.
The Bards in the crowd scrambled back, desperate to escape his wrath. The Nameless One watched, rather amused, and made a vague gesture to Likud to join him. "We've a busy month ahead of us. There is much work that must be done."
"First and foremost, my lord, is Turbansk. The Ernani's council asks for thousands of hands to help in its reconstruction."
"Give them three thousand men and women. If the work progresses well, I'll send more in a few months." He paused, considering Rikesh to himself. "I do not believe the Grin has the strength of will nor the wisdom to command the Bards. He barely commands the Ernani."
Likud eyes darted to the side where Saliman knelt. "We could send the Turbansk Bard."
"I suspect we will have to. But first, allow the Grin his chance to rule. When he fails, we can use it as a lesson to the other lords." His grin turned into a nasty snarl. "I am the only one who can truly command the Bards. I am the one who will protect them."
"A fine idea, my lord."
The Nameless One spun about to face his Circles. He titled his head, toying with the idea of hurting them, but decided against it. They were weak from the breaking of the Speech, and he wanted them alive. Their punishment for opposing him would be a long and miserable life. He waved lazily and they felt the chains of his will loosen. They sat up, stretching their protesting muscles. Saliman lurched to the side to help Cadvan with Nelac.
"You, my Bards, will remain with me tonight. We shall dine together."
Cadvan and Saliman looked up mutinously. "My lord," Saliman said stiffly, "Nelac needs rest. Please, allow us to take him back to my rooms."
"Absolutely not," the Nameless One said carelessly. "Carry him if you must, but bring him."
Cadvan snarled under his breath, but the Nameless One was already turning away. Saliman stared after him, eyes bright. "I shall kill him-"
"You'll do nothing of the sort." It was Vaclal, who was taking an opportunity to covertly join them under the pretext of checking Nelac's pulse. "This isn't the time for arguing or fighting. The sooner we get through this meal, the sooner you can see Nelac safely to bed."
Saliman glared at Vaclal, but the older Bard seemed to have reached the end of his endurance. And patience. "Do not test me in this, young man," he said with such fatherly sternness Saliman flushed. "This is the time to consolidate our strength - what little we have left, that is. What use is there in struggling right now?"
"Our compliance could be viewed as approval," Cadvan hedged.
"And your struggle will only be viewed as stupidity." Vaclal caught Cadvan's eye severely. "Am I not First Bard of Lirigon?" Cadvan nodded. "And you are Cadvan of Lirigon, are you not? Then listen to me."
Cadvan felt appropriately small. "Yes, of course."
The two lifted Nelac and helped support him out of the ghetto, back up the steps, and into the tower. Having only barely recovered themselves, Saliman and Cadvan were gasping for breath by the time they arrived in the throne room. The Bards crowded in, looking around with a general sense of nervousness. What more could there possibly be to do?
"Fetch the Pellinor brats and Saliman's woman," the Nameless One shot over his shoulder at a waiting servant. "And call for dinner. I've worked up a voracious appetite."
In due course, Maerad, Hem and Hekibel were summoned. Maerad dutifully took a spot beside Cadvan, while Hem and Hekibel gathered behind Saliman. The Nameless One stood before his smooth, black pool, watching his reflection thoughtfully. After a moment, he reached out a hand without looking up.
"Cai, my wine."
Hem scowled, but found wine and served him a generous amount. He wondered fleetingly if the Nameless One could actually get drunk, for the man seemed to consume an impossible amount of alcohol. Hem took a step back, placing himself carefully out of reach. The Nameless One must have noticed because he smiled from the corner of his mouth, eyeing Hem sympathetically.
"What an eventful day. You have done well, my Bards." He waved his wine around. "You deserve a great feast."
On command, servants came in hesitantly, and the Bards moved back to seats around the table. They were served succulent pork, roast sprouts, blanched peas and carrots, soft bread with melted butter. There was a steaming apple tart with thick cream for dessert. The Bards ate slowly, but the food tasted like ash in their mouths. The Nameless One ate a startling amount of food, throwing the bones of the pork chops he ate at Hem. Hem maintained a level of indifference, but when it became clear he wasn't going to be fed, he begrudgingly picked at the bones. He ducked his face so he didn't have to look at Saliman.
"You ought to thank your master for the food," Likud observed, when Hem scowled down at the bones in his hands. "No one else sees fit to keep you fed."
Hem's face darkened, but his curses dried up when he recalled the last time he had interacted with the Hulls. He could still feel the ghost of a blade pressed into his belly. "Thank you, my lord."
"He's a good boy, isn't he?" the Nameless One asked Saliman. "It took time, a little bit of struggle, but we're making excellent progress. I have such hope for him yet."
Saliman stabbed a piece of pork angrily. "I am glad to hear you find my ward serviceable."
The Nameless One shrugged. "That's being generous."
Hem's hand tightened on the bone he was holding and the urge to throw it across the room. Likud seemed particularly sensitive to his temper, and was thrumming with excitement. He wanted the boy to act out, he wanted the opportunity to punish him.
The bone in Hem's hand sliced his palm and he felt blood dripping down his wrist. "Perhaps, under your continued guidance I'll improve."
"It can only be hoped." The Nameless One watched the blood drop to the floor. He straightened up, pushing his plate aside, and fixed the Bards with his bright stare. "I told you, yes, that you would all have a place in my empire? You will have your reward?"
The Bards exchanged rather anxious looks at this news.
"It seems I must order my household," the Nameless One announced. "But where to put you all."
"Send us along with the rest of the Bards," Vaclal said. He looked resigned and Maerad realized these Bards were far beyond fear or anger or loss. They were simply tired.
"Now, now." The Nameless One tilted his head, smiling a little. "You are so much more than a common slave who scrabbles away at my fields or ruined cities. You, Vaclal, are a famed Reader."
Vaclal shrugged. "But you have deemed that Bards may not read."
"Do not play stupid, Vaclal. If I deem your skills necessary, I can command them." His tone was mild, but there was an unspoken threat, a deep anger that could be felt by them all.
Vaclal paled a little but kept his gaze fixed on the king. "I would not dare consider refusing you."
"That's good. I much prefer your happy obedience." His eyes moved to the Hulls that thronged the walls. "It occurs to me that, while we have finally subjugated the descendants of the Dhyllin, we have not utterly undone the free people of the north. Already, reports come to me that the northerns are up in arms, preparing for battle against my rule. They are not ready to surrender to me."
Vaclal looked on curiously. "How can I be of assistance?"
"We must project my victory to these discontents. They need to know that resistance is futile." The Nameless One gestured at his Hulls as if they could give him advice.
"A progress through the north with our loyal Bards on display?" Likud suggested, and its eyes moved to Cadvan hungrily. The Hull was keen to get Cadvan away from the watchful eyes of the Nameless One and play with him a little. "With demonstrations of your…superior might."
The Bards glanced sharply to the Nameless One. What demonstrations could the Hull possibly have in mind?
"A fine idea," the Nameless One demurred. "Though I am not so keen to release this lot from my purview. But I appreciate the idea of publicizing our victory. Perhaps a tour of a different kind?"
Likud showed his teeth again in annoyance. "What are you thinking, my lord?"
"A story," he said at length. "There is so much power in a story. So we will give them one." He lifted his glass to the Bards in a toast. "We will give them your story, each and every one of you. Vaclal, you will compile these tales."
Vaclal's face darkened. "I am not sure I am the appropriate one to write such a history."
"Oh, I disagree. You are a most talented Reader. Certainly, you are the best choice for such a task." He sipped his wine, his expression delighted. "It must be a beautiful tale, Vaclal. Set each character against the backdrop of their doomed battles, describe their hopeless plans and the fall of the Schools, their miserable journey to my fastness and the breaking of their hearts and minds." The Hulls cackled and the Nameless One nodded thoughtfully. "You must gather the stories of my Hulls as well. I want the people to see that the Bards were utterly overwhelmed by the might of my servants."
"It could take months to have the details you ask…"
"I'll give you nine months to gather the stories. Then, I will have my Hulls go forth to the cities and tell the tale. They will know then, how utterly defeated they truly are."
"I might need help. This is a tremendous task." Vaclal did not say he had no desire to do it. Surely, it was going to be miserable.
"I have complete faith in your ability," the Nameless One said, easily ignoring Vaclal's request for help.
Vaclal didn't bother to ask what would happen if he failed to get those stories. "As you wish, my lord."
"Well, that is you done." Now his bright gaze moved to the others. "These First Bards are the primary problem, you know. They are the ones that must be thoroughly punished."
"Give them to us," Likud tried again. "I could certainly use a servant."
"I don't want them tortured, Likud, I want them punished." He gave the Bards an apologetic smile. "No need to rush things. Malgorn, we already discussed your promising future as my stable master, and, as this position has so recently opened up given the unfortunate events that unfolded in the ghettos -" Malgorn swallowed loudly. The last Bard who had served as stable master had died during his interrogation "- I think that is where you will go. You like this, yes?"
"Yes, sire," Malgorn said stiffly. He didn't even look up, he didn't trust himself not to flinch.
"Saliman, you serve on the council of Turbansk. It makes sense that you will continue to serve in this capacity. Nerili, I think you will directly see to the ordering of my person. You can be the mistress of my wardrobe."
Nerili felt her stomach fall out. Her memories surged up: his tongue thrashing about, his teeth biting, the feel of his anger…She didn't want to be alone in those rooms. But the Nameless One was already moving on, now eyeing Anhil with something like confusion.
"And what do I do with you?" he asked the Bard kindly. "You are certainly a skilled Reader, but not as adept as your predecessor. Tell me, what skills do you have?"
Anhil shrugged. "I am accounted a good enough healer among my people."
"A doctor?" The Nameless One found this interesting. "I thought Cai was the only skilled healer among you lot."
Anhil's eyes darted to the boy and back. "You asked, my lord."
"So I did." An expression of terrible pleasure passed over his face. "A healer knows how to take pain away. But, this naturally means you know how to give it."
"Please…" Anhil began, sensing the direction of his thoughts.
"Let us marry your two skills and make something useful of it. You will assist in interrogations and strive to improve my Hulls' techniques. Record your notes. Produce for me a book of…best practices. A manual."
Anhil cringed. "I understand why you think I would be helpful in such circumstances, but you will find, my lord, that I am going to make for poor help. I've a squeamish stomach."
"You're a healer," one of the Hull's said dryly. "Mix up a cure."
Anhil looked imploringly at the Nameless One, the thought alone turned his stomach. But the Nameless One smirked. "He raises a fine point."
"Of course, Finlan died, which means there is no First Bard in Ettinor." He waved a hand at Helgar and Usted unhelpfully. "I won't raise up a women, so Usted, you can serve. What skills do you have?"
He looked around for help, but none of the Bards seemed inclined to speak. "I am a Maker."
"A fine thing to be. You will be sent to the armory, to help in the making of weapons." Usted did not bother to contest this, just shook his head. The Nameless One's eyes flickered around the group. "Norrowen is another blasted Reader, but we certainly can't let a woman be seen anywhere near a book."
"A housekeeper, my lord?" Likud suggested with a soft laugh.
"An interesting suggestion. She can set the meals, order the horde of servants that clean. Yes, a job out of sight." He smiled beatifically. "No one needs to see those horrid teeth of yours."
Norrown showed the gaping hole in her mouth with a jagged snarl.
"Of course, Cadvan and I have discussed his future. And Cai will continue to serve as my cup-bearer." His dark gaze shifted to Maerad. "You, mistress Maerad, will remain as my personal Bard. The only one in all the world allowed to make music."
"I am honored," she said ironically.
"The rest of you, I think we can place quite easily. I have need of cooks, maids, craftsmen." He tipped his glass at Indik at that, and then proceeded to list off the many roles the First Circles could occupy in his empire.
Cadvan listened with a distracted energy. His attention was almost completely focused on Nelac, who had slumped into a chair and was staring blankly at a wall. He wished fervently that he could get the older Bard away from the Nameless One and the Hulls, but he was sharply aware of his forced attendance. He could not leave now.
"Cadvan." He flinched at the sound of his name. "Perhaps you wonder what will become of our hopeless Nelac?"
He felt his eyes shift up. "I wonder only for his health, my lord. As I said earlier-"
"I care not what you said earlier." The muscles in the Nameless One's jaw tightened. In private, he allowed Cadvan's arguing, but before his servants he could not allow such freedom "He must have a place in my empire. Or shall I just kill him?"
"Don't." It was said with such quiet desperation that it eased the Nameless One's anger.
"Don't? But what else is he worth now? Look at him."
Cadvan swallowed, disgusted by his next words. "You rendered him thus to make a point: that even the greatest of us can be destroyed. Killing him would not serve that purpose. People must see him."
The Nameless One gave him a sympathetic smile, masking his delight. "This must be difficult for you, Cadvan. I know how you loved him."
Cadvan maintained a blank expression. "Nelac is a lesson to all the others. But only if they can see him, he must be kept well enough to be on display."
The Nameless One raised an eyebrow. "You want to parade your mad, old mentor around? That seems a little…harsh." His face stretched into a thrilled smile. "That is a singularly cruel thing to do."
"I serve your best interest, my lord."
"Liar," snarled Likud from the side of the room. "Let me gut the old man. We can string his corpse up outside the tower walls."
"And what would that prove?" Cadvan growled.
"That there is no place for the weak in the Nameless One's empire," Likud said swiftly.
Cadvan swallowed loudly, never looking away from the Nameless One. "You made a show of this, why end it so soon?"
The Nameless One glanced between Likud and Cadvan. "What would you give for Nelac, Cadvan?"
"What do you want?"
"Not me," he said, lifting his hands to ward off praise, "but Likud."
Cadvan's face paled a little. "I have limited skills to offer, but whatever he sees fit."
Likud looked as though a holiday had come early and lurched forward. Cadvan took a startled step back, looking sharply at the Nameless One to see if he would intervene. "Oh, I think Cadvan and I could come to some arrangement."
Do you know what Likud would do to you? Cadvan's mouth went dry. "And what does the illustrious lieutenant of Dagra want of me?"
Likud titled his head, considering. "I want you to watch while I have your little lover whipped." Cadvan's eyes widened in horror. "I want to hold you while you struggle and strain and listen to her screaming. I want you to beg me to stop until you are hoarse. Until even your pathetic pleading dissolves into silence."
"No." He placed Maerad behind him, but he could already feel her pushing forward. "No, you can whip me. You can do whatever you like with me. But leave Maerad out of it."
"You're not in a position to barter. You want the old man to live? You watch while I have your woman lashed. Thoroughly."
Cadvan waited for the Nameless One to say something – anything – then he realized how distorted his sense of reality had become that he hoped the Nameless One would do anything for him. "Your business is with me."
Likud could sense Cadvan's trepidation. "She's your woman, your own little possession. And I'm going to break it."
Terrible indecision plagued Cadvan, the sensation all cornered animals felt when they were trapped. He wanted to flee with Maerad, but he couldn't leave Nelac. He felt himself reactively reach for a sword. Likud's eyes followed the hand motion and his eyes narrowed.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Likud said, shaking a finger slowly. It smiled with a flash of pointed teeth. "You know better than to raise a weapon to me."
"I didn't-"
"You wanted to. And the mere thought of attacking me is a betrayal." The Hull spoke in a low, menacing voice, but its eyes were glowing with pleasure. "You know such treachery is not acceptable."
Cadvan clamped his hands into fists and forced his voice to remain calm. "I apologize for my actions. I appear to have developed a few…bad habits over the course of a very dangerous life."
"Excuses," Likud said softly, and moved forward.
The Bards parted to give Likud a direct path to Cadvan, he didn't blame them, though. What could they do to help him anyway? Maerad didn't move from his side because she could feel the tension in him like a physical force and wanted to ease that.
"Ah, mistress Maerad, you come when called. Like a dog."
"You can do as you like with me," Cadvan said firmly.
"Commoners, they love to dicker." He came within arm's reach of Cadvan. "But in this, I will not be denied. I will have you watch while Maerad is whipped, or I'll slit that old man open and splash around inside him like a puddle."
Cadvan's eyes shifted to Nelac, who was slumped over in a chair with closed eyes. "Please."
Likud drew a deep breath. "That's the way, Cadvan, that's how you beg. But you will do better."
"Likud, there must be something more you want from me."
"More?" Likud snatched a hank of Cadvan's hair and pulled so sharply he stumbled forward. Likud twisted and Cadvan was forced to look up into his pallid face. The Hull spat, "Of course I want more from you! I want to destroy you. I want to break your body and mind, drag your carcass through the streets so all the little Bards can see, and then take you somewhere deep and dark and quiet and have my way with you, minute by minute until even the thought of death is but a forgotten dream."
The venom of his words shocked even Maerad, who was accustomed to the anger of the Nameless One.
Likud's face spit into an empty grin. "But, since our master has deemed you a valuable servant, I am denied my desires. And I settle for this. So, the girl or the old man?"
"You will have me," Maerad said, taking advantage of Cadvan's shocked silence.
The Hull's eyes didn't leave Cadvan's face. "Your woman offers herself."
"She doesn't-"
"I do. This isn't Cadvan's decision to make. Nelac is as much my friend as he is Cadvan's. I won't let you kill him."
"I disagree." For the first time, the Nameless One spoke. He leaned forward on his throne and Likud jerked to attention, looking curious. "Everything about you is Cadvan's decision. You belong to him. So, if he would rather you remain unharmed, you will."
Cadvan betrayed himself. "Surely, there is reason to keep them both in their faculties."
"I don't see why," the Nameless One said silkily. "Personally, I'd just as soon see your whore dead and buried."
"Cadvan," Maerad hissed. She tugged him sharply and he swallowed. Think, he thought, think, you idiot. You can convince him to spare them both. Just think! He glanced between Likud and the Nameless One, saw their gleaming, laughing faces, and realized they were closing in on him like wolves circling prey. His chest felt tight and cold sweat broke out on his hands. Just-just think-
"Cadvan, please, stop fighting this," Maerad murmured. "Just say yes. You need to protect Nelac."
"I need to protect you both," he growled.
Maerad shook her head slowly. "Not this time."
"Do you know what he'll do-"
"Let me do this." Maerad offered him an encouraging smile. "Please, let me help."
Likud looked between the two, a little disappointed Maerad had so quickly offered herself to his whip. "The girl?"
Cadvan scowled but shrugged. "Let Nelac go."
The Nameless One chuckled. "So, he chooses the old man over his woman. Not a very faithful lover, Cadvan."
Maerad's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing, painfully aware of the promises she had made to him after he destroyed the Speech.
"Oh, I am going to enjoy this," Likud said succulently. He reached up and brushed Cadvan's cheek with the back of his hand. "I so love our little intimacies."
Cadvan wrenched back. "One day, I'm going to kill you."
"Are you trying to seduce me?" Likud asked with a low laugh. The Hull spun away, extremely pleased with the way the day had gone. "I think, if it's all the same to you, my lord, I'll have the girl whipped tomorrow. There's been too much excitement today, I need to gather myself."
The Nameless One looked on the Hull indulgently. "It has been an exhausting day." His eyes moved around the room to the Bards. "Tonight, you will sleep in your cells, and tomorrow, you shall go forth to your new duties."
The Bards heard the dismissal in the Nameless One's words, and they tipped their heads in agreement as they came up from their seats. They were keen to escape his presence. As they turned to go, though, he raised a hand. "Do change back into your rags. I only want you to wear those robes when you are in attendance on me. I don't want you getting dirt on them."
Cadvan's grip on Maerad's arm was so tight she gasped as he led her from the room, and they fell in line behind Saliman who was now supporting Nelac with Hem's help. At the stairs, Saliman pulled Nelac up higher on his shoulder. "Shall we go to my room or yours?"
"Bring him to me," Cadvan said tersely. Irrational though it was, Cadvan's only thought that moment was to have Maerad and Nelac in his room where he could protect them. They moved in ungainly an fashion up the tower and into Cadvan's rooms, and settled Nelac on the bed. He stared up a them, his eyes unfocused.
"Nelac," Cadvan said gently, clasping his hand tightly. "Nelac, my friend, please speak to me."
Nelac blinked slowly. "My friend…" he said weakly. He tugged on Cadvan's hand and he bent closer.
"I'm here. I can hear you." Cadvan dropped down to his knees beside the bed. "What do you need?"
Nelac frowned, clearly confused. "Need?"
Cadvan's face crumpled. "What do you need of us, Nelac? Please, let us help you."
Saliman came around the other side of the bed, took Nelac's hand, and felt for his pulse. Hem drew alongside him. "What do you need me to do?"
Saliman shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted. "Are you in pain, Nelac?"
Nelac's head lolled to the side. "I don't know."
"You don't know?"
Hem sighed heavily. "He's just repeating what he hears." Hem manipulated Nelac's face toward him. "Nelac, what's my name?"
"Name."
Hem's eyes darted between Cadvan and Saliman. "My name is Hem."
Nelac nodded weakly. "Hem."
"See? He's not in his right mind right now." Hem rearranged him on the pillows. "I'll make him a sedative. For now, stay with him, or he might hurt himself."
Maerad and Hekibel had stood back, watching the scene unfold uncomfortably from the corner. Saliman suddenly seemed to collapse and leaned against the headboard, and Hekibel moved swiftly to his side. She grasped his hand and arm, drawing it against her.
"Saliman, please, do not despair."
He glanced at her sharply, almost like he would laugh at her statement, but any of that anger left him when he saw the gentle understanding in her face. "He's one of my oldest friends, certainly the finest. And I love him." Saliman suddenly stopped speaking and roughly drew Hekibel against him. He pressed his face into the crook of her neck and he drew a shuddering breath.
"Perhaps you should go and rest," Maerad said uncertainly. She didn't want to force Saliman away from Nelac, but he seemed at the end of his endurance. She drew even with the end of the bed. "It's been a long and exhausting day. My brother and I will keep Nelac safe."
Hekibel nodded encouragingly. "Maerad is right, sweetheart. There is nothing you can do here. Let Hem care for Nelac."
Saliman looked up miserably. "I want to help."
"You cannot pour from an empty cup," said Maerad, eyes shifting to Cadvan. "Either of you."
Cadvan prickled, turning sharply on Maerad. "Let us stay and care for him."
"And who will care for you?" Maerad responded swiftly. She shook her head tiredly, and then took Cadvan by his arm and helped him to his feet. "Sleep in the armchair if you will, but you will not stay on your knees wasting away."
Cadvan allowed himself to be moved only after Hem returned with a cup of steaming liquid. "Here, Nelac." The old Bard looked up - perhaps he knew his name after all – and he allowed Hem to cup his chin. He tipped the cup against Nelac's lips and the older man sighed as the fragrant draught beguiled his senses and his eyelids drooped. Hem pressed the hair off his face. "Good. Keep drinking."
Hem looked up at the others. "I know you want to care for him, but he doesn't know where he is or who you even are. You should not drive yourself like this for so little."
Cadvan's face darkened at the thought of Nelac being considered so little, but Maerad pinched the inside of his arm. "Hem is right, Cadvan."
He took a few steps away from the bed and collapsed on the chair. "I'll stay here."
"Come, Saliman," Hem said with a winning smile, "you trust me to look after you. Surely, you will trust me now?"
"I am so tired of relying on you to clean up messes for me," he said softly.
"I'll let you return the favor," Hem said indifferently. "How about a foot massage?"
"That's all?"
"Every week," he stipulated. "For the next year."
"Now you're talking," Saliman said absently. He tried to summon a smile for the room, but there was nothing left in him. He shrugged and tucked Hekibel against his side before leaving the room.
"I am worried for him," Hem said, watching the two retreat. "I mean, I am always worried for him, but this is…" Hem made an inarticulate gesture. "The last week goes hard."
Maerad glanced back at Cadvan, who, she noticed, had tipped his head back and closed his eyes. She sank onto the bed next to Hem and took his hand. "It's over now," she said softly. "The Song is his, the Speech is dead. He is done with us."
Hem shifted a pillow behind Nelac and watched him nuzzle the blankets. His face was pale and he twitched in his sleep. "I somehow think that Sharma is very much not done with us."
Ir-Ytan leaned back in the ornate chair in his bedroom to get a better view of Hema's sleeping figure. It was made difficult by the fact that she had bundled herself in layers of blankets, but he saw her head peaking out, her hair making a messy fan behind her. He tapped the half empty goblet of wine on the arm rest contemplatively.
Not so terrible this time, he thought, reflecting on their most recent evening together. She even smiled a little during.
Of course, the thought brought Ir-Ytan up short, and he glowered impressively. He didn't want a wife who thought of laying with him as not so terrible. He wanted a passionate wife, a woman who loved him as fiercely as his mother had loved his father. He wanted a woman who looked forward to being with him with such intense longing that she could hardly be kept from his bed. And, of course, as a young man with very little experience, he nervously worried that it was his fault Hema didn't seem to enjoy lovemaking. Perhaps he wasn't good enough, perhaps he didn't really know what he was doing? He bit his lip.
I did what Malgorn suggested. I didn't hurt her. He crumpled inside at such a thought. Of course, he didn't want to hurt her! He wanted to be so gentle and so good that she fell in love with him. Because if she loves me, then perhaps she will advocate for Turbansk and me against her father.
He glanced at her again and felt sick. That was no way to view his wife: as a piece that could be played to advantage. That was what her family did, but he was better than them, wasn't he? She shifted in her sleeping, murmuring something just loud enough to carry across the room to him. He frowned and left the room silently.
In the sitting room, his brother was snoozing on the couch, bundled in a pile of blankets. After learning of their separation, Har-Ltan had been distraught at the idea of going to Zimek alone, but he had put on a brave face and insisted that they make the most of the time they had left together. Ir-Ytan spent most of his days with his brother, roundly ignoring his wife and her family, much to the annoyance of Sonja. At night, they would often dine together and spend time of lazy dalliances until the young prince dozed off and Ir-Ytan could dedicate some time to his wife. He debated waking Har-Ltan now, but shook it off. His brother was too young to give any guidance on matters like unhappy wives or unwilling marriages, and besides, it would only upset him to know that the woman taking their mother's place was unwanted.
He turned to leave, hesitating at the door. Ir-Ytan was not strictly forbidden from leaving his rooms, he was not a prisoner in the practical sense, but he also had no idea what he might come across in the tower of the Nameless One. He fingered the cornice of the door, wishing he had been allowed a dagger or sword, but pressed onward into the darkness of the hall.
Ir-Ytan cut a path as quickly as he could for the rooms of Saliman. He encountered no one on the way but felt the unnerving presence of someone watching him. He paused occasionally, turning about sharply when the sense became overwhelming, but there was never anyone there. He wondered if his paranoia was simply born from the time he had spent under the Nameless One's watchful gaze, or if a pair of unseen eyes really was following him. He hurried his step and when he got to Saliman's room, pounded louder than he meant on the door. When no one answered, he struck again. There was a growing sensation that something was stalking him and each moment he was out of his rooms, the creature was inching closer and closer, ready to pounce.
He was about to knock a third time, this time with his fist, when the door creaked open. A bleary-eyed Saliman greeted him, looking bemused.
"Ir-Ytan?" he asked, confused. He rubbed his face, brushing away the sleep from his eyes. "Light's sake, what are you doing here in the middle of the night?" The lateness of the hour had robbed Saliman of any sense of propriety. "Get out of the dark, come on, lad."
Ir-Ytan slipped into the room and the horrible sensation of being hunted vanished. It was dark, save for a low fire that burned in the grate and the flickering glow of a candle, held by Hekibel who was standing on the threshold of the bedroom. She was dressed in nothing but a thin shift, and Ir-Ytan's gaze snapped away before he saw something he'd rather not.
"Who is it, Saliman?" she asked softly. Her voice didn't tremble with fear, it just sounded exhausted.
Saliman locked the door and came into the room, gesturing vaguely at Ir-Ytan as he stoked up the fire. "The young Ernani graces our presence." The fire crackled to life and Hekibel saw the young man silhouetted in the light.
"Keeping odd hours, are we?" Hekibel asked wryly, before glancing down at herself and retreating into the bed chamber.
"I apologize for the lateness of the hour," he said lamely when Saliman turned to face him. He saw that though the Bard was wide awake, there seemed to be a lingering exhaustion. Something else was troubling his mind. "I couldn't sleep and I came seeking your advice."
Saliman raised an eyebrow. "If it's a sleeping draught you're after, you'll have to come back. Hem is our master healer, not me, and he's otherwise occupied tonight."
"No, nothing like that." Ir-Ytan bit his lip. "It's Hemalatha."
Saliman gestured to the couch and took a seat opposite Ir-Ytan. "She is unwell?"
"I don't think so. She is…not exactly happy with me." Ir-Ytan struggled to find the words he wanted. Now, faced with Saliman's serious handsome face, he felt like a fool.
Saliman sensed his discomfort and his voice took on a distinctly gentle tone. "She has heard many lies about you, and she is young. She is not unhappy with you, she is unhappy with her lot in life."
"It's not that." Ir-Ytan suddenly wished he could be anywhere else. "I don't think she enjoyed being with me." He paused significantly and saw a sudden flash of awareness in Saliman's eyes. "I've not done anything to hurt her, I've taken care to be gentle. But I'm worried I'm not-" Accomplished enough a lover to satisfy my own wife.
Saliman waved his hand. "I have some little knowledge of the culture of Den Raven. Noble women here are strictly forbidden from erotic studies. If she seems uncomfortable, I imagine it's far more self-conscious than anything else."
"I feel like an idiot," Ir-Ytan admitted before he could stop himself. "And the whole time her eyes are just closed, or she's looking away, like it's all some great sacrifice on her part. And I don't want to make her uncomfortable so I just leave and-" he caught himself before he continued. "I don't know what I'm doing. I don't want to frighten her, but that seems to be the only thing I am capable of."
Light save us, Saliman thought. Bards never practiced arranged marriages, and certainly not between hostile parties. What was the right answer here? Have the Ernani keep going because it was his duty and traumatize the girl? Tell him to stop until she came to him? I need a drink.
He was saved answering by the soft presence of Hekibel. She had wrapped herself in a dark red and gold, fur lined robe and brushed her hair out so as to look presentable. She had a jug of cider and when she arrived, she drove the fire poker into it until it steamed. She poured a glass for each of them and winked lazily.
"If we're going to be up late, we'll need something to keep the cold away," she said, smiling helpfully at the Ernani. "What's all this whispering about?"
Ir-Ytan looked like he swallowed a fly. It was bad enough to tell Saliman of his miserable failure as a husband, but to tell a woman? A woman as striking as Hekibel? He glanced at Saliman who pat Hekibel's knee.
"The new queen consort does not enjoy her time with her husband."
"That's unsurprising. She's young, she doesn't know how to enjoy it." Before Ir-Ytan could say more she threw up her hand. "Even if you were the most knowledgeable lover in the seven kingdoms, even if you'd visited every pleasure house or brothel in the land, it wouldn't help. She doesn't know how to enjoy herself, and you outperforming her would only serve to reinforce her lack of knowledge. She would see it as a rebuke."
Saliman stared at Hekibel like he was seeing her for the first time. "How do you know that?"
She gestured grandly at herself. "Because I'm a woman," she said empathetically. "And this might surprise you to learn, I was a young, inexperienced woman once too. Honestly, why is it that when men have questions about women, they go to other men? You might as well go ask the moon."
Saliman raised his eyebrows at Ir-Ytan. "Perhaps my good lady has more common sense than I thought."
"Listen to me, young prince, the girl doesn't understand you because you speak a different language of love." She smiled faintly. "I've seen the plays your people tell. You have ideas of torrid love affairs where beautiful princesses seduce lustful princes, and in their mutual passion, find love. Yes? You speak of a world where women are free to follow their hearts, to enjoy the pleasures of their bodies, does that sound like Den Raven to you?"
Ir-Ytan considered this. He had never once realized that in his head, the stories of love were always a strong, independent woman enticing a man with her cleverness and entrancing him with her beauty. He blinked, utterly surprised by his own ignorance. "We are raised to believe that women have minds and wills of their own, that only a man who meets them as an equal is worthy of their love."
"Yes, I see that. And she was raised to be an obedient wife who thinks of nothing more than running her household and entertaining her husband." Hekibel's laughter bubbled up like fresh spring water running over stones. "How can you expect her to be delightfully challenging when all her life she was told not to be?"
"Her obedience is not attractive," Ir-Ytan said firmly.
"I'm not saying it is." Hekibel put her hands up in defense. "Of course, I think women should be allowed more freedom than the desires of their men. But, think on this: to a caged bird, flying is an illness."
Saliman chuckled to himself. "I like that." He leaned back, taking a long draw of his cider. "I've done a disservice to myself, not going to Hekibel for advice. We ought to listen."
Ir-Ytan nodded his head slowly. "Then what do I do?"
"Then you must seduce in her own language," Hekibel said thoughtfully. "Are there no tales of romance in Den Raven? No stories of beautiful princesses and dashing princes?" When the two men stared at her, nonplussed, she rolled her eyes. "Practically speaking, what does every young woman in Den Raven wish their husband to be? You certainly have the means to be it."
"And that will help?"
"If a woman loves you, she'll forgive the occasional lackluster performance." Hekibel rolled her eyes at Saliman who looked outraged, but she winked. "Not that you are anything other than inspiring."
"She sings and dances," Ir-Ytan mused. "Though I'm not one for her taste in music."
"This is something for her to enjoy," Hekibel reminded him with a tight smile.
"I could find something," he said slowly. He looked up, suddenly hopefully. "What about a book of Turbanskian tales?"
"Ah, clever man," Hekibel said ironically. "You would show her the type of woman you want her to be? Why, I'm sure she's so empty-headed she wouldn't notice how cunningly you made your desires known." She leveled him with a flat stare and he blushed. "If she asks you about your people and your culture, tell her. Hitting her over the head with it will only criticize her."
"Then I must be the one to change?" he demanded, feeling once more the unfairness of the entire marriage.
Hekibel gave him a sad look and sighed. "Yes, because you can. How could she begin to understand you or this complexity of feelings you yourself cannot fully understand?" She glanced at Saliman but he was watching her closely.
"You know just enough to realize she isn't happy, and have friends you might go to for help," said Saliman kindly. "She has none of that. Pity her that at least, that she is utterly alone and confused."
Ir-Ytan leaned back in his seat, staring at his cider. "I sometimes forget that her life might have been easy, but it was not gentle."
"You can be both, though," Hekibel said warmly. "I think you will find she responds quite well too it."
Ir-Ytan drained his mug of cider and smiled up sheepishly at the two across from him. "I admit, I feel a great fool for all this."
"Don't," Hekibel said easily, sensing that platitudes from Saliman would mean less than from her. "You are young, and so is she, and Light knows this is not something you thought you would ever have to navigate. I'd hazard a guess that if you asked one of us to do as you have done, we'd be equally confused."
"It is not so far a stretch as what Maerad and Cadvan were dealing with, and those two spent months acting like mindless monkeys around each other," Saliman chuckled softly. "But there is no easy answer."
Ir-Ytan nodded his head slowly then glanced up at them both with a crooked smile. "Well, no one said being the Ernani was easy."